


A kiss...

by Wrathofscribbles



Series: Kisses... [17]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 16:52:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17145482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: ... because they're running out of time.





	A kiss...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MathClassWarfare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathClassWarfare/gifts).



> **Big bold reminder that Final Fantasy XV and all of its content is property of Square Enix.** I just like to play in the sandpit they've created for the fans.

How many years have they waited for this?  How long have they fought and bled for this fragile planet, their home, their world?  How many times have they nearly died?  How many times has he been the voice of reason between friend and Glaive in their arguments, their disagreements, their misplaced belief that Noctis is dead?  How many bullets has he wasted, firing too close for comfort as a _reminder_ of access to Noct’s Armiger, its crystal shards still dancing around the barrel he aims at Luche’s face (“traitors don’t get a say in when the rightful King comes back when they helped put his Dad six feet under, buddy, sorry, I don’t make the rules”)?

How many heartbeats have been an agony, an age, fingers clawing over his own face as he stares down his haggard reflection and takes a breath or twenty to gear up for departure, another defence detail, another rescue mission, all the odds stacked against him?  How many pleas has he sent to silent Astrals over the years for a sign, any sign, that their efforts – _his_ efforts – aren’t in vain?  How long did it take for Noct’s shirt to lose its shape and comfort in the stains and strains of Scourge and blood he couldn’t wash out fast enough?

All of the pain and loss and bone-deep exhaustion, so much _loneliness_ and heartache to get Noctis back, to have him in his arms again, to feel the heat of him and breathe the scent of him and poke at prominent ribs and _fuss_ over him and the cruel treatment he’s suffered.  His missing piece, slotting back into place and reminding him what it is to _live_ , what it is to laugh and love.  Maybe, just maybe, it’s all worth it in the end, Prompto thinks, Noctis will get his chance to rebuild Insomnia and give it back to his people, to _all_ of Lucis, and Prompto will be at his side every step of the way – but he should know by now that fate is a cruel mistress.  He should know better, but it still comes as a punch to the gut when Noctis tells them so easily, so calmly, that he has to die for the world to live and Prompto… he’s angry.  So mad and hurt and he doesn’t get how Noct can just _stand_ there braced on Takka’s counter, weight pitched against it and legs crossed at the ankle and arms folded and –

Resignation.  Right there in his eyes, in that empty gaze, and aside from what he reckons is the glimmer of tears, Prompto might as well be staring at a corpse already.

“How?” He asks in a voice he hardly recognises as his own.  “How is this fair?  How are we supposed to _accept_ this?”

“We don’t have a choice.  Either I die, or everyone does.”

* * *

Desperate hands and a desperate grip and maybe if he holds onto that jacket as tight as he can… maybe Noctis won’t go, maybe some bullshit destiny won’t steal him away.

“I have to go.”

“No!  Not yet, stay.”

“I can’t.”

“Just ten minutes, Noct.  Please.”

“I can’t, Prom.  I’m so sorry.”

“No –”

“Prom –”

He’s crying, Noct’s crying, and it’s all shit.  It all sucks.  He’s not ready to say _goodbye_.  He wasn’t then and he isn’t now.

Hands on his face, tipping his head back, lips against his and tears mixing with his and his knees buckle under the weight of grief yawning wide open.  He’s gotta let Noct go and it’s not fair.  It’s not fair at all.

_I love you._


End file.
